


The Third Meeting

by SilverCyanide (LemonFairy)



Series: Legerdemain [9]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Genderqueer Character, Internalized Homophobia, Queer Themes, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 10:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonFairy/pseuds/SilverCyanide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hasn’t been a good day for many of them, and Marius’ comment is the match in the powder barrel for Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Tension (part 7 of this series) is semi-necessary for parts of this to make sense. Also shhh yes I know Correct Enjolras blowing up at Incorrect Marius is always done poorly in translation and I'm sure I'm no different, but it doesn't mean it isn't an important stepping stone that I have to hit.
> 
> (Also, as much as I can read about and research it, I'm on the anxiety boat and not the ADHD boat, which means that discussion/critique/etc. is super appreciated. <3)

Enjolras has been running everywhere today. Ze’s been up since six, taking tests and attending interest meetings and tutoring another student, and it might only be three pm by the time ze gets to stop home, but it’s two hours too late: ze’s been scattered and jittery since at least one, and the crash is hitting hard. Ze tells zirself zir’ll get up in a minute, that ze just needs to sit down for a moment since the couch is so close, but then three hours later Combeferre is gently shaking zir awake.

“Mornin’,” Combeferre says gently, scratching the top of Enjolras’ head. Enjolras yawns and buries zir face against the couch cushions.

“Wha’ time ‘s it?” ze mumbles, feeling like crap. Zir limbs feel funny and zir brain foggy in the way that won’t clear just because ze wakes up.

“Six. I figured I’d wake you up before I started dinner, since we’ve got our meeting tonight.” Enjolras groans again. Ze sits up properly and tips zir head back. Standing behind the couch, Combeferre walks his fingers along Enjolras’ forehead.

“You missed your afternoon Adderall didn’t you?” It’s a question that Combeferre already knows the answer to. Enjolras nods anyway.

“I—it was just meant to be for a moment.” Ze drops zir head to zir hands and sighs. “Fuck, meetings and words and—staying on topic and being a composed human being.” Already, anxiety at the thought is creeping up. Ze glances at the clock, considering.

“Don’t even think about it.” Combeferre cuts the thought off, though not unkindly. “You won’t be able to sleep. I can lead tonight,” Combeferre says calmly, like it’s no trouble at all. Enjolras shakes zir head.

“No, I shouldn’t—”

“We’re like co-captains.” Enjolras hates when people cut zir off, but Combeferre speaks softly and kindly and it makes zir feel okay. “It’s all right to hand things over to me sometimes.”

Reluctantly, Enjolras nods. “If you’re sure you don’t mind. . .”

“Not at all.” Combeferre smiles as he says it and reluctantly untangles his fingers from Enjolras’ hair. “Now, I’m going to start dinner. I hope fried rice is okay.”

 

Marius walks up and down the block three times before finally going up to the door. He knows the address is right—he triple checked it with Courfeyrac, bless her patience—and he’s seen a handful of other people walk in. But the thought of actually knocking, of walking into a meeting for… _this_ , of all things, with a bunch of other people who may or may not want him there, is enough to make him want to run away crying.

When he finally does knock, a pretty girl answers the door, but that’s not any better because, as it turns out, _he knows her_.

“Marius?” Cosette says softly, clearly surprised. He feels himself blush and start to sweat more.

“H-hi,” he blurts out, barely able to keep breathing. “I um—I didn’t know you lived here.” The words are flat in his ears, but he doesn’t know what else to say. It hits him, again, that he shouldn’t have come, and he starts to say, “I should just leave,” when Courfeyrac rounds the corner.

“Marius!” she calls brightly, and Cosette’s head whips around at the loud noise. “You came.” Cosette finally seems to understand why he’s on her front porch, so she beckons him in, where Courfeyrac hugs him.

“All right?” she whispers in his ear, and Marius nods against her shoulder, holding back tears. When they pull apart, she squeezes Marius’ hand before letting go. “This waaaaaaaaaaaay,” she says cheerfully and Marius follows her down the stairs, feeling just a smidgen less nervous. Then he folds himself into the corner armchair and waits for this… group… to start.

“All right everyone, it’s great to see you all back,” a slim, black boy with glasses says from the middle seat of a couch. “As usual, we’ll start with introductions, and today we’re doing name, pronouns, high and low of your week, and your favorite season.” His eyes flick around the room briefly. “I’m Will Combeferre, my preferred pronouns are he, him, and his. The high of my week was that my religion test went well and my low was that the semester is starting to drag, and my favorite season is summer.” He glances next to him, and Marius’ eyes follow.

“Enjolras,” the kid to Combeferre’s left says. “Ze/zir/zirs. Got a lot of work done this week, so that was a high. Low is today’s just been really busy.” Ze shrugs, tapping zir fingers along the arm of the couch. “Don’t have a favorite season.”

The next person is seated cross-legged on the floor. “I’m Jehan, and today I’m using she, her, and hers,” she says, and Marius thinks she has a lovely but familiar voice that he can’t place—though he does learn her favorite season is spring.

The introductions continue in that fashion. There’s Joly (“My low is that everything hurts today,” he says, eyes focused on the cane he’s resting against one knee), Musichetta (“Summer,” she declares confidently), Bossuet (“Um, I didn’t fall down the stairs coming in this time! So that’s a high.”), Cosette (“I honestly couldn’t pick a season—they all have wonderful traits, and they all have different clothing benefits,” she admits, face tinted pink), and Courfeyrac (“My high is that it’s almost the end of the week, and Netflix just updated a bunch of Disney movies!”). Finally, it’s Marius’ turn.

“Hi,” he says, trying to keep his voice from shaking; his hands are doing enough of that already. “I’m—um, I’m Marius Pontmercy, and I um, my pronouns are he, him, and his. I’m, uh, I guess my… my low is that I have my first real paper of the year due Monday, but my high is that there’s no school tomorrow.” He sees a few quirked eyebrows and can feel his face heat up as he adds, “I’m um, a senior in high school. And—I really like winter.”

And just like that, it’s over. He still feels a little shaky and warm all over, but the person next to him (Feuilly, who skips highs and lows all together) has started speaking, and then the last two occupants introduce themselves. (Bahorel: “Summer is the best and if you think otherwise you’re wrong”; and Grantaire: “I made it through another week without throttling someone, so that’s a high.”) Then, the room settles for a moment, and Combeferre looks like he’s about to say something when Bahorel speaks.

“Okay, I wasn’t going to, but he’s been sulking about this all week so I feel like—can we just fuckin’ clarify, this is a place for anyone as long as they think they’re not heterosexual right?” His voice is firm, like he’s trying to make a point.

“Anyone who isn’t heterosexual or cisgender,” Enjolras says sharply. “Yes. If a person fits at least one of those categories—or thinks they do—they’re always welcome here.” Zir leg bounces as ze adds, a bit clipped, “If I gave off an opposite impression last week, that wasn’t my intention. Sorry.”

“So”—Bahorel sounds like he has a grand master plan as he looks at Feuilly—“you do fucking belong here, you asshole.” Feuilly’s got both legs pulled up on the armchair, cheek resting against one of his knees as he picks at a thread on his jeans.

“Fine,” he mumbles, “whatever. You’re not—“ He pauses for a moment, but no one says anything, so he continues. “Just because not everyone is confident or sure of their sexuality all the time doesn’t mean you need to make a big deal about it.” He turns his eyes down again and shrugs. Combeferre’s voice is soft and smooth when he breaks the tension.

“Though I certainly don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he begins, “I think that would actually be a good topic for us to address today—that is, how we knew or maybe didn’t or don’t know that we didn’t fit into the cisgender, heterosexual narrative typically provided for us.” Marius isn’t sure if the whole room feels more tense, or if it’s just his own nerves bubbling up within him. “Your contribution to discussion is of course optional, and as always, we have a ‘what’s said here, stays here’ policy.”

There is silence for nearly a whole minute. Then, Feuilly snaps out, “Fine, I’ll go. The whole issue is that I don’t—I thought I knew but I don’t anymore, because I used to be interested in guys, but I haven’t in a while, so I have no idea what’s going on or how to label myself or even if I deserve a place in this space or whether I’m really a ‘phase’ bisexual.” He doesn’t look at anyone, and Marius feels bad staring.

“That’s not your fault though.” Attention turns toward Bossuet, who looks genuinely apologetic. “I mean—yeah, you feel that way, but you feel that way because society decided to fuck up and say the only queer—” Feuilly flinches (the word makes Marius swallow hard), and Bossuet notices “—sorry, the only LGBT narratives that matter are the ones of people who have Always Known and mostly people who’re only attracted to one gender. Which—it makes you feel a certain way, and that sucks, but those feelings aren’t your fault.” He smiles, and even though it’s not directed at Marius, he feels calmer. “Plus, there’s nothing _wrong_ with your sexuality being fluid—like, I was pretty sure I was gay most of my life, and now that’s not the most accurate fit, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t have good reason to think or feel that way then.”

Feuilly nods without speaking. Then, without realizing he’s even opened his mouth, Marius blurts out, “But how can you, like, change? I mean, it’s not—it’s like, a choice anyway right…?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. “No.” Enjolras’ voice is steel. “Sexuality and gender identity aren’t choices, and that type of ignorance isn’t a viewpoint welcome here.” Marius feels tears burning behind his eyes. He tries and struggles to swallow. Enjolras’ gaze is still piercing him, and so Marius reacts on instinct: he springs up, rushes out an “I’m sorry”, and is up the stairs out of the basement in a half second. The door slams behind him.

 

It wasn’t the right response. Objectively, Enjolras knows this. But ze’s got this idea in zir head, of the type of space this is supposed to be, of the type of people who are meant to be here, and ze’s had “it’s a choice!” used against zir one too many times for zir reaction to the phrase to not be violent.

Once the door at the top of the stairs has shut loudly, there are two seconds of silence. Then, Grantaire lets out a low whistle and mutters, “Damn,” and the room breaks into uncomfortable, murmured chattered.

“Thank you, I cannot _stand_ when--”

“You really shouldn’t have--”

“--aiming for a welcoming environment, a better balance would--”

Cosette stands. “I’m going to go check on him,” she says softly and removes herself from the situation.

“ _Enjolras_.” Courfeyrac’s voice is stern. Attention directs to her. “I know—we all... you mean well, but…” Enjolras frowns, tries to convey to her that _ze knows, today’s not great, but ze **knows**_ , and it seems to work; Courfeyrac’s tone softens. “He’s just confused—he didn’t mean it like that.”

Eyes are focused on Enjolras again, but ze’s struggling to compose zir thoughts. It’s frustrating, the way what ze wants to say is floating around zir instead of sticking. Combeferre presses their ankles together. It helps the tiniest bit.

“I apologize for that outburst,” ze says, feeling a little shaky on zir part as well. “I believe you all understand and agree with the notion that this shouldn’t be a space for discriminatory anti-LGBT comments.” There are a handful of nods. “But I—and I am sure many others of you—are prone to act on, um, impulse, and so… things may come out incorrect sometimes.” Internally, Enjolras groans: the attention on zir is not inspiring like usual, but nerve wracking. “Though I don’t ever intend to offer a pass on transphobic or homophobic statements, I will—it’s the second week in a row where I’ve personally stepped out of line, and I intend to work on it. No one should feel excluded from this space when it’s meant to belong to them.”

There’s a moment of utter silence. Then, with a harsh laugh, Grantaire spits, “There shouldn’t be a focus on ‘it’s not a choice’—should be a focus on the fact that it doesn’t fucking matter if it is.” He’s looking at Enjolras, but ze’s dropped zir eyes. It doesn’t matter: the room’s lit back up with conversation, and Enjolras is able to keep zir mouth shut for the rest of the hour, the bouncing discussion (perhaps thankfully) harder to follow than usual.

 

“Marius?”

His head shoots up. He’s leaning against the sink in the bathroom, knuckles white from how hard they’re gripping the counter. He left the door cracked though, and Cosette tentatively peers around it.

“I—um, sorry,” he mutters for lack of anything else to say. Cosette presses the door open. Marius is very aware that he is crying.

“Don’t be,” she says simply, resting a gentle hand on the back of his shoulder. “You—I mean, yeah, whether you did something wrong is debatable, but Enjolras’ certainly shouldn’t have snapped like that.” Marius nods, but it’s half-hearted. Cosette can tell. “Would you like something to drink?”

When Marius shrugs, Cosette takes that as a yes and gently guides him down the hallway to the kitchen, where she presses a shaking Marius into a chair and fetches him a glass of water. He tries to stop crying, desperately tries, but the river that’s been building in him during the past few hours has gotten too high and it’s impossible. Marius drops his head to his arms and does his best to stay silent. Cosette sits next to him.

“’m sorry,” he says again, at last, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I… it’s just, clearly _nothing_ wants me here, and I don’t know _why_ I though this wouldn’t be a completely awful idea—I mean, I _do_ know why, it’s because Courfeyrac has a way of making _anything_ sound like a good idea, I don’t know how she does it—and so now I’m just sitting here being…” He swallows and looks down at the table with a shrug. “Being pathetic.”

“You’re not,” Cosette says softly, and when Marius shakes his head, she repeats it. “You’re really not—you’re just not sure of yourself, and that’s okay. It’s… I’ve only known them all a few weeks, I can’t pretend I have some vast understanding of everyone, but Enjolras… can get very intense. He—ze, sorry, ze just gets really intense over things. It happened last week too. It’s not really you.”

Marius has picked up the glass of water, sipping at it slowly, and now he stares down into it like it might teach him something. “It’s me every other time, it just makes sense for it to be me here too.” He shrugs again and drains the rest of the glass then glances at Cosette. “Thank you. I should, um—I should stop troubling you and go before everyone else eventually, um, leaves.”

Cosette smiles at him, and it’s tinged with sadness and something Marius can’t quite identify. “You’re not troubling me at all,” she finally says. “But, you’re—it might not be a bad idea to leave if that’s what feels best, you’re right.” They stand at the same time and she shows him to the door. But, before she lets him leave, Cosette hugs Marius tightly, and once he’s out the door he feels a little bit better, even if he’s sure he’ll never go back.

 

Enjolras barely notices when they end. Word haven’t been moving quite right or making perfect sense, and Combeferre has done an incredibly good job of taking charge of the discussion and getting them back on track. It’s only when Courfeyrac drops down next to zir that ze realizes everyone else has started thumping up the stairs, leaving only the three of them behind.

Despite the earlier incident, Enjolras knows Courfeyrac’s not mad—she’s not good at that, at least when it comes to her friends. So ze drops zir head onto her shoulder, eyes shut against the world (or, at least, the basement). Ze feels Courfeyrac’s fingers running through zir hair, and tonight ze doesn’t mind. On zir other side, Combeferre is certainly typing post-meeting notes on his phone.

“Don’t lecture me,” ze finally says, more a question than a statement. Courfeyrac tugs gently on zir hair.

“I won’t,” she replies. “He was wrong. I’m not going to deny that—if it’d been anyone else, you _know_ that I would have been right there with you. But he’s… it’s like, you have to find a way to bring people in who don’t have a lot of knowledge and not scare them off, and it’s—that’s something we _both_ need to work on.” She taps the side of Enjolras’ head, and ze chuckles softly: ze certainly recalls Courfeyrac shouting at a girl over feminist principles this past summer until she fled in mortified tears.

Enjolras opens zir eyes and tilts zir head up to look at Courfeyrac, who’s got half a grin playing across her face. Ze returns it.

“I’ll apologize next week,” ze promises, then pauses. “Or—will he show up next week?” Courfeyrac shrugs.

“It was hard getting him here this week,” she admits. “It’s…”

“Not likely,” Enjolras finishes with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I… That’s the last thing I really want to do, words just—come out, and…” Frustrated, ze tilts zir head back against the couch and squeezes zir eyes shut again.

“I’ve got an email list,” Combeferre says after a moment of silence. “He’s—Marius, right?—he’s not on it obviously, since I passed it around at the end, but it’ll give us a chance to talk about policies regarding education of members and other important details in a more private and less confrontational manner.”

“I can give it to you,” Courfeyrac says, fishing her phone out of her pocket. “He’s one of those kids who wants to fill in every field when you exchange contact information.” Her grin is fond; Enjolras immediately feels worse, because Courfeyrac clearly really cares for this kid already.

“Would it be best if I left it alone for the night or if I emailed him right away?” Enjolras asks softly. Ze is not sure ze can form sentences that will do the situation justice tonight, but ze also doesn’t want to exacerbate the damage, and so if—

“It’s probably best to wait until tomorrow.” They all look toward the stairs, where Cosette, who has just spoken, is standing. She flushes a little. “That was, um, the impression I got from talking to him at least.”

“Tomorrow, then,” Enjolras promises firmly, and on that promise ze makes good.


End file.
